Senior Moments
by shootingstella
Summary: This is frivolous. A series of plot bunnies revolving around my original character from We Are Golden; Tate Senior.
1. Still Golden

Okay, apparently, I can't write anything besides third person perspective. But this series will still be Senior centric.

Technically, this chapter is the epilogue to Golden, so I did through in a cute little Violate scene, but there will be more Senior soon.

* * *

It was the kid's nineteenth birthday.

He hadn't always been father of the year, but at least he remembered shit like that.

So he wasn't surprised when he looked up from his chair in the basement and saw him, standing in the doorway.

"What's up birthday boy?"

The kid stood, hunched over, head bowed uncomfortably beneath the drop ceiling. His face was covered in shadow, but as he stepped forward into the light, the look in his eyes brought Seniors chair abruptly back to all four legs.

"What's up?" he asked again, this time without the joviality in his voice.

The kid walked over to him in quick even strides and grabbed him by the throat, forcing him out of his chair and up against the wall.

His first instinct to say something obnoxious was cut short when the kid shoved something in his mouth.

His next instinct to fight was derailed when he felt something sharp pierce the skin and bones of his dominant hand. The kid pushed him harder into the wall, his finger nails beginning to leave crescents in his neck.

"You need to pay for what you've done!"

Senior choked out a sorry excuse for his confusion but the 'something sharp' from before, which if Senior had to guess, felt like a kitchen knife, was plunged into his abdomen.

"You need to repent," the kid snarled, pulling the knife out and stabbing him again. "For the countless, *stab* "innocent," *stab* "lives you've stolen." *stab stab stab*

The kid left the knife in the last time, instead opting to bring his knee up to his groin; a move which instantly brought Senior to the floor.

He attempted to catch his breath while he watched the kid kneel down over him, trying to get his tongue behind his gag to force it out of him mouth.

But no such luck. With a firm grasp in his curls, the kid yanked his head off the floor.

"Do you have any idea where I could be right now? I was supposed to get out of here." He smashed Senior's head into the concrete and yanked it back up, "I had potential."

"Tate!" Violet's soft voice carried down the stairs, light and flowy like she had no idea what was going on below her feet.

One more smash for good measure and the kid hopped back up to his feet, brushed the dust off his knees and called upstairs, "Coming Vi!" in a voice that showed no evidence of his actions.

He turned around to leave, but spun back around quick and bent back down over senior, "Wake up," he smacked his father lightly on the face until his eyes fluttered open.

"Seriously?" he mumbled around his gag.

Tate pulled it out, his entire demeanor changed. "Hey, you can't tell Violet about this okay."

Senior rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times before speaking.

"Why not?" it came out strained as his head was a little more than cloudy from its repeated meeting with the floor.

"Because I don't want her to think I'm unhappy. I mean, obviously, I'm not like super overjoyed, but I love being with her. I just-"

Senior's eyes were beginning to glaze over and Tate tapped him on the forehead a few times to bring him back into focus.

Once his eyes straightened out, the kid continued his impromptu therapy session.

"I just get really fucking pissed off sometimes, that you killed me. Here. It drives me nuts once in a while, like when I realize what else I could have had."

"Tate!" Violet's voice drifted down the stairs again, this time more urgently

"I'll be right there babe!" he hollered up the stairs, "We'll keep this between us right?"

"You're such a little asshole," senior slurred with half a smile.

"Chip of the ole block," Tate smiled at him, before grabbing him by the curls one more time and finishing his head on the concrete.

* * *

It was the day after Violet's nineteenth birthday. She was lying in bed, one arm hanging over the side; fiddling with the loose strings of the rug below her, and trying to keep her bubbling joyfulness from spilling over. She preferred to ration it, much like she would the carton of cigarettes sitting on her bed side table, perched in a nest of Sunday funnies wrapping paper.

She flipped her head to the other side to admire the top half of Tate's naked body, sticking out of the mess of bed sheets.

She had never actually liked her birthday when she was alive. It was always a very fake celebration; supposedly done in her honor but never for her benefit. The last few years of her life had been especially bad. Watching her parents try to push their issues under the crisp table cloth at a four star restaurant.

She had never really had anyone to truly celebrate with before, but last night, with Tate...

* * *

She hadn't expected him to remember. She told him the year before that the sooner they let go of bullshit like that, the better off they would be.

He promised that one day they would let the frivolity of life go by the wayside, but not yet.

He handed her a big rectangular package covered in Garfield and Snoopy. She smiled big while she opened it and he blushed and admitted that Addie helped.  
The unnecessary but much appreciated gift was set aside and they got down to their usual way of celebrating birthdays, and Christmas, and Arbor Day... and Wednesdays.

* * *

Back in the present, she was absent mindedly tracing her fingers over the ridges of his shoulder blades, withdrawing her hand just in time as he rolled over into her. With a groan he lifted himself up to position himself above her. His still sleepy head slumped into the crook of her neck and she squirmed when his hot breath tickled her skin.  
"I'm gonna take a shower. Do you want to join me?" his voice was husky from sleep and the way he pressed his hips into hers for emphasis made her squeal.

Her plan of portioning out her happiness into little smiles that would be sure to last her through an eternity in The Murder House failed her as she felt joy bursting out of every pore.

"I'll be there in a minute okay," she pressed a kiss into his temple before pushing him away. He smirked at her before turning, ruffling his bed head as he walked away.  
She crept out of bed and ran to her dresser, grabbing one of Tate's oversized t-shirts to add to her high socks and boy shorts before creeping down, the old fashioned way, to the basement.

He was sitting on the floor, up against the wall, throwing a ball up against the wall, and catching it when it bounced back.

"Have fun getting plowed birthday girl?" he asked her without interrupting the rhythm of his game.

"You're so crude," she huffed as she stepped in between him and the wall, deflecting his ball.

"Do you mind?" he drawled getting to his feet and retrieving his lost ball.

She sighed, "I'm not here to fight with you, or yell at you."

"So then you're here to kick me in the balls?" he offered.

She shook her head and almost smiled. "I'm here to thank you, so stop being an asshole."

"Thank me for what? I'm not the one who was-"

She held up a hand to stop him before he could say whatever repulsive thing he had on the tip of his tongue.

"I want to thank you, for Tate. for..." she shook her head, hating her words, "Thank you for killing him."

He looked genuinely surprised.

"Happy the bastard is dead?" it didn't take him long to regain his usual attitude.

"Shut up. Just, thank you, okay. I almost… I almost let him go… and I would have- I mean, I wouldn't have done anything, if you didn't- but you did…and I'm grateful because…"

He was watching her ramble with a mix of amusement and condescension.

"I needed him," she whispered the last bit.

He smiled while she looked at her shoes but wiped it away just in time for her head to shoot back up to face him, along with a threatening finger. "You can't tell him about this. We're happy but I don't want him to know... I mean it's a sensitive topic okay?"

He nodded, knowing exactly how sensitive the subject was.

"Not a word," she insisted.

"Think of me as your priest. Nothing leaves the confessional," he gestured to the space around him.

She rolled her eyes and instead of turning to leave she simply disappeared. He listed for a moment and heard her squeal from somewhere above him.

"Friggin kids," he rolled his eyes and pretended not to smile as he resumed his stupid game.


	2. The Pit and Peanut Butter Sandwiches

I didn't forget about this story. I'm just taking my sweet as time.

Btw, in my mind, little Tate is just the cutest fucking chunky happy excitable oh my god. Precious. I tried to express that as best as i could.

* * *

"Whatchya up to kiddo?"

Short stack jumped at the greeting, and spun around quick, brandishing the blunt end of his flashlight like he meant business. He strained to see into the dark for a moment before clumsily turning it around in his chubby hands to shine the light on his unexpected company.

"Oh," his brow unwrinkled when he saw Tate and he turned his attention back to rummaging through a knapsack.

"I'm running away," he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

_Smart_, Tate thought with a little smile, "But don't you usually have to leave the house for that."

"It's not like I'm running away to Australia!" the kid exclaimed, all preposterous little kid sense of humor.

Tate actually laughed, "Well then where are you running too?"

"The darkness!" the kid said, holding the flashlight under his chin to make his features as spooky as his voice.

"Why?" Tate asked, suddenly more than just a little interested.

"Because momma said it's gonna get me. She told me if I'm not good I'm gonna get stuck in it."

Tate waited for more."

"So I told her I didn't care! I'm not afraid of the dark! And to prove it, I'm gonna stay here!" The kid's tone of voice was excited and incredulous, but those words were too big for his little mouth so he was just happy and maybe a little proud of himself.

Tate didn't want to point out the flashlight that the kid was clinging to with desperate sausage fingers. He figured it might be in bad taste, so he simply hopped into the pit and took a seat next to him.

"Can I join you?"

"Sure!" the kid exclaimed, handing him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a comic book. Tate smiled.

The kid stayed down there for four days. Senior stayed with him for the bulk of the time, even if the kid couldn't see.

He let Constance know where he was, and that he would come out when he was good and ready, or just bored of the same ten comic books. In the meantime, whenever the kid fell asleep, Senior made him some more peanut butter sandwiches for his never ending pile, and changed the batteries in his flashlight.

* * *

"She deserved it, so try not to look so guilty," he said as he appeared on the other side of the kitchen island, earning himself a face full of harshly exhaled cigarette smoke.

He sputtered and she smirked. "Manslaughter is not something that normal people take lightly."

"You've never been 'normal people'," he corrected.

She poured herself another tumbler of scotch, "Go away."

"If I go away… who's going to clean up your mess?"

"You are my mess."

He hopped off his chair and rounded the counter, "I'm you only hope princess," he whispered in her ear before giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Now where'd you leave the little slut?" he asked as he walked away.

"She's in the bathroom," Constance murmured into the rim of her glass. She knew he would hear her.

Thirty minutes later he came to find her in the kitchen again; she was down to her last cigarette and his shirt was stained with blood.

"Nice shot," he commented as he refilled her glass and drank it himself.

"Where'd you put her?"

"In the pit with Beau."

"The boy plays down there."

"Well not any more obviously. He likes the attic better these days."

"How do you know that?"

Tate shrugged.

"Please don't tell me you've let him see you. Please don't tell me you've set my boy up for the most alarming case of daddy issues in history."

"Don't be ridiculous Constance, I'm not stupid. I do however keep an eye on him, because god knows your parenting skills are barely enough to keep a kid alive in a normal house."

"Shut your mouth."

"Shut it for me."

* * *

"Shall I put him in the pile with the others?"

Constance said nothing; the only sound was the periodic 'clunk' of Hugo's head hitting the next step as she dragged him by the ankles into the basement.

"Going solo then?"

"…" she dragged Hugo into the back room where she kept cages, stacked two and three high of the mangy mutts she got paid to neglect for eight hours a day.

She let him drop to the floor and wiped her hands on her already ruined skirts.

He took a seat on the steps and rested his elbows on his knees, face in his hands as he watched her take an axe to her husband's extremities.

"You're so beautiful," he said with a dreamy tone.

She ignored him and kept working.

"The kid's getting a little out of hand. Do you want me to have a talk with him?"

She huffed and brought the axe down again, cutting a leg in half.

"Frankly I think he deserves a cake. And um… What else do kids his age like? Is he too young for a hooker?"

She took a break from the task at hand for a moment. "We're leaving Tate."

That cut his smart ass short.

"What do you mean you're leaving?" he crossed the room in two steps and picked up her bloody hands in his, holding them loosely between them.

"You can't leave; he's gone, everything's taken care of now. We can finally be together… We can be happy."

"No one here can be happy Tate."

"We can!" he squeezed her hands "We have each other."

"We don't have each other Tate. We have a child, with a body count, who deserves the chance to get away from all of this."

Tate hung his head. He may be a bastard but he knew that his kid was better than him.

She was reaching behind her ear for a cigarette and placing it between her lips.

"He's getting worse," she said, gesturing towards the mess behind her, and then to her cigarette with bewilderment because he still hadn't lit it yet?

_He's done I promise. _"What could he possibly do that's worse?"

"... He could kill me..." she murmured.

"You know I can't exactly see that as a bad thing Connie, I don't know why you do."

She reached into his back pocket and took out a bic to light her own damn cigarette for once.

"We're leaving Tate. That's it."

* * *

"Tate…" she asked hesitantly. He hummed lazily in response as the pads of her fingers rubbed circles into his scalp.

"Where's my body?"

He froze; lifted his head off of her chest and blinked a few times, trying to bring her face and her request into focus.

"It's safe."

She rolled her eyes. _Vaaaauge_. She pressed her fingers into his shoulder, urging him for more.

"It's with mine." It wasn't a question, but his voice turned up at the end like he was hoping, praying to god that that would be enough for her.

It only made her eyes wider.

"Where are we?"

"We're right here Violet," he tried.

"Tate... show me."

He huffed and flopped back against the mattress onto his back.

"I don't expect you to understand, I just want you believe me when I say I need this."

"Explain it to me violet, why do you need to have a horrible fucking day?" he was losing his patience but she didn't back down.

"You saw your body Tate. It was brief and it was weird and you walked away from it but you still got to see it. You understand that it's not you anymore. I didn't get that chance."

He let his eyes fall closed and gave a little sigh as he recalled the night he rushed her through the realization of dying.

"Okay, come on," he rolled out of bed and took her hand in his giving her a gentle tug.

"Like this?" her lips quirked up in a smile as she gestured to their haphazard, half assed clothing.

"We're going to the basement, not the White House, come on."

She smiled and let him pull her along the old fashioned way to the basement.

From there it was a bit of a hike, all the way to the deepest darkest corner of The Murder House.

Tate knew the way like the back of his hand, though he didn't know why. His father told him once that he used to play down here. He decided that explained a lot more than his flawless sense of direction.

When they came to the pit, Violet held her breath, taking one last moment to decide if this was what she really wanted.

It was.

She peered in and saw mummies, barely recognizable save for the clothes.

She sighed, and lost the last remaining sliver of hope that this had all been a dream or a trick or a hallucination. It felt better than she expected.

"What if someone finds us?" she asked suddenly, turning her attention to Tate who was facing the other direction, avoiding this whole damn thing.

He looked back at her, "No one will find us." His eyes glinted with the suggestion that he would do anything to keep that from happening, or possibly already had.

She nodded dully, turning her attention back to the deceased.

They weren't embracing, or holding hands, it wasn't cheesy or staged. They were just lying next to each other, the way the livelier Tate and Violet slept next to each other in the summer when the humidity made touching uncomfortable.

She smiled a little bit, "It's kind of romantic I think."

He looked at her like she was crazy.

"Now they'll be together forever."

* * *

X3


End file.
